Tony in the morning, May 8th, the second weekend of our second year.
my current desktop
Tag: tony
More than a couch, less than a rocket ship.
I pulled back. Wait. With one hand on his chest, I reached down with the other and plucked our favourite caramel from the small, expensive box on the bed. Here, so we’ll always know what our first kiss tastes like. I put it between my teeth and held it there in my mouth, then leaned forward to his, and broke the dark chocolate into gooey citrus caramel just as our lips began to meet.
The last few days have felt like a wonderful vacation from the various crushing worries that have been become the fabric of my recent life. Instead of worrying about rent or groceries or perpetually postponed photo sessions, I’ve been floating, spending time in Seattle with Tony, celebrating our one year anniversary with whatever pops into our heads. I arrived to find chocolates on the bed from Chocopolis, the place on Capitol Hill where the flavour of our unbelievably delicious first kiss came from. They no longer sell that particular sweet, but Tony bought approximations, and we fed them to each other like little bullets of joyful reminder, coated in smooth, delicious happiness.
He also presented me with a copy of Taxidermia, so Friday night we stayed in, made supper, and let wonder unfold on the screen. Neither one of us had seen it before, but I’ve been quietly lusting after it for years, since seeing this clip when it was first posted. I warn you now, it’s one of the most beautiful films I’ve ever seen, but it’s relentless. I’ve been trying to think of a way to recommend it to people for days now, except I want to do so safely, so no one ends up traumatized. Describing it would ruin it. Telling everyone to see it would be a mistake. I mean, it’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous, but there is a man with a flame thrower penis within the first ten minutes. It needs one of those old thriller movie posters that didn’t bother with anything but NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!! in 89 point bright red type. Nothing else would be appropriate. I will say this, though, if you’re a squeamish sort of body, either watch it with someone who will tell you when to look or simply avoid it altogether, excluding the scene I’ve already posted.
Since then, we’ve wandered downtown, had dinner at the Space Needle, saw lightning, practiced our massage skills with ebony current cream, enjoyed at least one sleep-in of epic proportions, played peek-a-boo with a baby giraffe at the Seattle Zoo, fed popcorn to squirrels, been rained on with some red pandas, were pleasantly defeated by steaks at Morton’s, and fallen asleep in front of Sonny Chiba movies and seriously vintage cartoons. Our love is awesome.
ps. I also got him a present, but it’s not here yet, so mum’s the word until it arrives. Shh.
continuing the run down
Yesterday I applied for four jobs, had brunch with Michelle on the Drive, (where Fitz and his love happened to be), then brought her to Kyle’s, where we all exercised like mad. (Swearing it will be a weekly thing from here on in). After that, we took the skytrain out to New Westminster, where Michelle went home, and we went to the Debonair Wedding Store, where we and the rest of the groom’s party were fitted for tuxedo tail jackets for his wedding. Deposits were put down, then we drove to Metrotown and found purple shirts for our tuxes and potential pants. I skipped out on Maria In The Shower show at the Rio due to the hour and affordability issues, but I cleaned my room some more when I got home, sorted some books out of my collection for charity, and walked them over to the donation bin. I also set up a time to pick up my new glasses, did some studying for the GED, and repeated the written practice driving test until I got at least 92% correct every time.
Today I’m picking up my new glasses, then heading down to Seattle to celebrate my one year anniversary with Tony! How did I ever get so lucky?
he makes me laugh
Tony was just here for a week on a languid “vacation”, semi-officially off work after his product shipped and Microsoft turned a winking eye on the staff. Good work! Yeah, you, uh, should, you know, “work from home” this week, everyone, yeah. You know? We were slothful, staying up until four every night and indolently waking up at noon every day, something I haven’t done in years. I was concerned such a state of affairs might drive me batty, my itch to accomplish scouring my skin, but instead it was oddly refreshing. We were lazy and lovely and cuddly and snuggly and warm, and Dominique called me sappy, and I thought, how wonderful that sap has replaced my blood. I felt a bit like a battery being recharged, like my inactive down time would pay off in a burst of focus.
And, so far, it has.
When I put up my to-do list, Tony stepped in and offered to fund a “Jhayne Diagnostic Test” for my birthday. Kicking the tires, he called it, to see if I’m alright. Making sure I can see him, making sure I’m smart enough, and eventually, that I’ll be able to drive him around. Can’t have a girlfriend that isn’t up to par, he said, and smirked, and if he had been sitting beside me, I would have bashed him with a pillow. He was in Seattle, though, so instead I shook my fist.
So this week we found a place on-line that sells lingerie for more full bodied ladies, BreakoutBras, and snagged a batch of Harlequins that were on sale, and on Saturday I went to Image Optical, an optometrist who offers a free pair of glasses with every eye exam, which includes a contact lens exam/fitting, got my prescription updated, and picked out some frames. (Not that my glasses will be free. My vision is terrible and to purchase lenses that will not warp space and time costs a significant chunk extra. The blind tax, I call it. Unavoidable. Only $140 in this case, though, half of what more places expect.)
Today I go downtown for an appointment with the tax office to request my employment slips of the past ten years, then head over to the optometrist, credit card the glasses, (my mother is going halvers with me), and have my eyes measured for contact lenses. My eyes have apparently stabilized in the last few years, not entirely, but the prescription is no longer a bizarre, finicky one that requires custom attention, so the lenses are fairly basic, and the glasses will be finished and ready for pick-up tomorrow. Once that’s accomplished, and I can see without fog again, I’m going to march right over to the ICBC Driver’s Center and take my written Learner’s test.
The ball is rolling, ladies and gentleman. The gloves are off.
Hey Seattle! Mutaytor’s playing the Neumos on Sunday. It’s going to be a fine good time. Be there!
Spent an extra day in Seattle yesterday just cleaning, scrubbing the apartment from ceiling to floor, collecting enough cat-hair out of corners to make an eccentric fur coat. My entire body hurt by the end of it. Given Tony’s propensity to neglect his surroundings, even the laundry was a trial, six heavy loads of sheets, towels, blankets, and various miscellany carried wet up two flights of stairs, left hanging to dry in the windows and on doors, the better to save quarters from the dryer.
My place, thankfully, isn’t half as bad, but even so, I can’t imagine what could inspire me to put that much concentrated effort into my own place in Vancouver. I tend to let dishes sit a few days, clutter tends to obscure my shelves, and my carpet only appears whole and intact for sporadic patches of time, generally short. Cleaning my room takes about a week, as I tidy in small doses, multitasking my way through various chores until I’ve crossed enough off the to-do list that I can take a break without guilt.
In this case, it was the imminent possibility of fourteen (splendid) houseguests descending all at once, as my friends, the Mutaytor, only found out last minute that Neumos, their Sunday night venue in Seattle, isn’t going to cover a hotel. They found alternate crash space, thankfully, as I suspected they might, but as excellent excuses go for a hard day of spring cleaning, I can’t think of anything better, except maybe a suprise visit from the Queen.
where we stayed in san diego
The Orient Express Suite at the Balboa Park Inn, almost directly next to the San Diego Zoo, found in a search for “honeymoon suites” on-line. (Please note their decription completely fails to mention the mirror on the ceiling over the bed. To say it startled us upon discovery is an understatement.) Never having been to a theme hotel before, I have nothing alike to compare it to, but in comparison to the La Jolla Hilton where we’d stayed the night before, it was obscenely comfortable and hilariously decadent. We also scored a New Year’s Special discount. Five stars. Zomg.
Incredible, once you figure in the 100+ miles distance between our cities.
I was considering skipping Norwescon this year now that Myke and Beth have had to cancel, but after some deliberation I’ve decided to attend anyway in honor of one simple, sentimental fact: it was there that Tony and I silently came to the tacit understanding that we were both going to go home, clear out any distractions, and embark upon the complicated process of transforming into a couple.
I can’t pinpoint how we did it, exactly, given that we discussed nothing of the sort, but that we did so was undeniable. (In fact, nothing related was said until I got back to Canada, where the first thing he said to me over messenger was not “hello”, but “which bus are you taking down here?”, to which I already had a reply.) Two weeks later, I arrived on May 1st and so began our Month of Sundays, which has now stretched out almost to an entire, (and entirely), wonderful year, without even one weekend skipped.
Next year, excepting a social miracle, it is unlikely I will go, but this year I can’t help but see as a proto-anniversary, an excuse to celebrate what I am thankful for absolutely every day.
creeping up on a year together
Let me fall out a window with you. Place your hand here, upon the jut of my hip, where it rests in your sleep, where you grip my body to yours from behind. Let me lean back, just a little off balance. Let me feel the center of my gravity shift and slide. Place your other hand like a cradle for my head, as it hangs backward, trying to get the perfect shot of something sixteen stories below. The shape of you, the perfect heft of you, let it join me as I slip. Let your eyes widen in surprise, then smile with me. Let your lips find mine as they do in the dark. The sound of our clothing against the sill, the relaxed, casual laughter that will explode from my chest, these sounds will protect us, keep us safe, as we listen, absently, for impact, the beginning of the end.
Before that, (our collision with the indifferent ground), let me float away with you, hands twisted in the cords of a enormous balloon, brightly coloured, impossibly huge. Place your trust in my wrists, where they strain at the ballast of our weight. Let me drift on the wind in your tightest embrace. Arms screaming, my fingers numb. Under our feet will be the sea, the turquoise horizon a feather shimmering gently away. Let us endure until land, our anatomy twisted into one tangled shape. Aceept that we are stranded. Let me make fire as you wave at ships, as you hold me close at the curve of your hip. The warmth of our totality, the sweet, delicious taste of our kiss, these things will protect us, keep us fed, as we signal, unwavering, for delivery, until the rescue ships.
I just wanted you to know
My boy is beautiful and he makes my heart sing.
apparently a friend’s codename for me is ‘barefoot’
Trying to find the house was a trial. First the bus was the wrong bus with the right number. Then the stop was the wrong stop with the right street name. Sixteenth masquerading as sixteenth. Tricky, painful, miles later, a dead end. Logic deciding direction, deciding course, turning back, scaling the blocks, my twisted ankle less reliable with every step. Hours of this, my shoes removed and put in my bag as a way to stop the blisters, an attempt to save my feet. The brace I wear snaps, broken. With a wry internal smile, I know I’m lucky. The day before this, there were not even buses.
Tony and I downtown, carried by the tides of the celebrating city during the Olympics Hockey win, were caught, Kafka-esque, as transit was shut down. For weeks the government had been shouting, leave behind your cars!, even going so far as to last-minute blockade two of the three major bridges going downtown, but at that final, critical moment, there was a failure somewhere and, though they told no one this, the buses could not get through. Unless you had a home on the skytrain route, (a four hour wait at some points), there was no way out but to walk.
If it wasn’t for the air cast Michelle gave me, there were several points where I would have quite simply collapsed, folded into an ungainly heap, an adult in the familiar shape of a tired child who cannot, not for the life of them, keep up even one more step. My heart goes out to everyone else who was stuck, I am not old, nor even terribly infirm, and our escape from downtown was crippling.
Yet, in the midst of my thanks, I am reminded of the rebound effect discussed in conservation technologies, as when new logging facilities become so much cleaner that the companies that own them can build six times as many yet stay within the pollution laws, thereby offsetting potential energy and environmental savings by chewing through more land while maintaining the same waste rate. In my case, like a more efficient car being driven twice as much, extra support meant extra time on my feet equaled further metaphorical trees being chewed through leaving me with clearcut purple bruises, only the barest ability to stand, and a hamstrung gait.
Truly, I an unable to be too sad that I have already walked through the bottom of it, wearing apart the linen with the venn diagram of persistence vs. gritted teeth vs. places to be. Having it for the last two weeks likely saved my ankle’s life, yet conversely, I did only seem to be saving it for slow suicide. With the Olympics exacerbating my desire to be out of the house, I was out every day, telling myself through the pain it would all be okay. I am flesh, I will heal, this too shall pass. Losing the air cast keeps me from that mantra, keeps myself safe.
Perhaps, I will now try to say, optimism to the fore, nights behind in my sleep, this will all be for the better, and I will remember to keep my walks tidy, tiny, and neat.